Only in Art
by LettersFromRussia
Summary: A little 'Silence of the Lambs' spin. Bella Swan is an FBI agent on the trail of an elusive bloodsucking serial killer. And infamous murderess Rosalie Hale may be the only one who can help her catch him. BxR, AU
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there, lovlies :] Let me start by saying that this is my first Twilight fanfiction, and I'm still working on perfecting my characterizations and such. Also, let it be known that this story is **_**extremely**_** AU. It's storyline is based on 'Silence of the Lambs'(though it is not necessary to have seen it to understand this fanfic), and while it most likely will deviate a bit from the movie's plot at some point, this first chapter is structured largely on the SotL plot. Hey, doesn't every great franchise need a Twilight spin? Tee hee.**

**So, enjoy, and don't forget to review! The Twilight Saga belongs to Stephanie Meyer, Silence of the Lambs belongs to Thomas Harris, blah blah blah and so on.**

**Warning: Potentially femslashy. So if you don't like that sort of thing, stop reading now. Rated M for violence, language, suggestive content, and material that may be slightly disturbing to some.**

_"Only in art will the lion lie down with the lamb, and the rose grow without thorn."_

_-Martin Amis_

The town of Forks isn't exactly a hot tourist destination. It isn't a hot _anything_, really-it's cold, rainy, and to those who are unappreciative of it's dark charm, I've lived here with my dad for years now, and I have to admit...after awhile, the gloom sort of grows on you. Or maybe it just seeps _into_ you. I dunno. It's a tough call.

I watched through my window as a bolt of lightning illuminated the outside world, and I leaned back and murmured thoughtlessly along with the rumble of thunder that followed. I loved storms. I love the way they crackled and the way they screamed; I loved their destructiveness and their apparent frustration. It was something that I could relate to.

Unfortunately, the world didn't stop for one beautifully chaotic thunderstorm.

_Thud._

A pair of pale, pixie-like hands slammed down on my desk. I tore my gaze away from the window to look up into the amber eyes of Alice Cullen, my best friend as well as my fellow trainee at the FBI Academy.

"Hey! Earth to Bella! Did you forget about the work you were supposed to do by this afternoon?" Alice motioned to the stack of slightly disheveled papers that had been forced carelessly to one corner of my desk.

I blinked. "I...uh...I was getting to them." I coughed evasively, my eyes guiltily flickering to the window and back.

Alice raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh. Well, far be it from me to start nagging you when I haven't so much as done one simulation this semester." She chuckled a bit, as if this was something to be proud of. I knew this was an exaggeration, but couldn't stop the smirk spreading across my face.

She continued, "Anyway, Dad sent me to get you. He wants to see you in his office."

Carlisle Cullen was one of our top agents, and he was in charge of our Behavioral Science Unit. But he was "Dad" to Alice. I couldn't help but roll my eyes, wondering what I was supposed to have done this time. "Thanks." I muttered to Alice under my breath, to which she gave a sympathetic "_hmm_", and stepped out of my way as I rose from my chair and passed her.

I made my sorry way towards his office like a dog with its tail between its legs, wondering what I'd done to warrant Carlisle's chastising this time. It probably had something to do with my daydreaming. I swear, that man picks up on lollygagging more than most men pick up on-well, anything. I sighed and wrapped my knuckles lightly on the door to his office, and then paused to wait for a response.

"Come in." was the curt reply,and I pushed the door open and slipped into the room rather awkwardly. Carlisle was seated at his desk, brooding quietly over the document in front of him. I cleared my throat quietly, and his eyes snapped up to bore into me. He and Alice had the exact same shade of eyes: a distinctive golden color that I'd never seen on anyone else. Actually, it was the only similar feature that the father and daughter really shared.

Said eyes crinkled warmly as a thin smile spread over his lips. "Ah! Agent Swan. Don't be shy, sit down." He greeted almost cheerfully, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. I obeyed nervously, wondering what to make of his warm welcome. It wasn't what I'd been expecting.

"You look guilty." Carlisle observed, his pale eyes glittering with amusement. "I take it those papers on your desk won't be meeting their deadline?"

I felt a warm blush spread over my cheeks. It was kind of creepy how he just _read_ people like that. "Uh...no." I mumbled sheepishly to the floor. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cullen, I guess I got distracted and I wasn't keeping track of the-"

He raised a hand to halt my speech; I'd already begun to ramble. "You know, Agent Swan, you remind me a little of myself when I first started here." He remarked, and then chuckled at my wide-eyed expression. "Not to worry. That isn't what I called you here about. You're going to make a great Special Agent, you know, once you graduate from here. You're resourceful, fearless, and exceptionally bright-and so I think we can afford to excuse a few..._'distractions' _here and there. But only a few." Carlisle eyed me knowingly.

I nodded. "Yes sir."

"In fact, your skill and promise is the reason I wanted to talk to you today. Agent Swan, you may be delighted to hear that I have a job for you."

I hesitated, considering this and wondering what it meant. On one hand, there was a chance that he was about to hand me a great opportunity, and one that I could use to prove myself. But given my lack of experience and my status as an agent in training, it was more likely that this was just some common errand I'd been selected to run. I frowned slightly. "A...job? I echoed.

Carlisle folded his hands together on his desk. "Mmm. As long as you're up for it, that is. It would require a trip to Acaraho Heights...I assumed you'd be able to stomach it." He raised an eyebrow as he finished silkily.

_Acaraho Heights?_ I held in a breath. It was an institution about forty miles outside of Forks, rarely mentioned though respectively infamous-_Acaraho Heights Mental Hospital for the Criminally Insane_. It sounded like something out of a horror movie, I reflected as I rolled the name around in my mind. What could Carlisle possibly have me doing out there?

Apparently, he took my stunned silence as a cue to continue. "We've been interviewing the patients. We do it routinely, especially when there's useful information to be gained. Oftentimes they're able to provide meaningful...insight when there's a criminal at large who's been evading us. A criminal, for example, like James Jerardi. I assume you've done your homework on _him_, Agent Swan?"

Like _hell_. The very sound of the name that escaped Carlisle's lips made my blood run cold. I dug my nails into my palms, only consciously realizing it when the dull pain brought around my attention. In my time training at the Academy, I'd read up on plenty of serial killers. A lot of real sickos were out there in the world, but none of them raised my hackles like James Jerardi. He'd taken the lives of nine victims in the past six months. _Nine._ All of them women under thirty. All of them found mangled and literally sucked _dry_. There was hardly a drop of blood left in them when he got done with them, and nobody knew what he did with it. Saved it, probably, that was the general consensus-that maybe he was doing some kind of twisted medical research. Maybe he drank it like some kind of parasite. Or maybe he was a psychotic freak who liked to destroy pretty things. I tended to side with the latter explanation.

"You...you think those crazies know something about Jerardi?" I asked, forgetting, in my disbelief, to speak with tact.

Carlisle nodded. "As a matter of fact, we do. One of 'those crazies' in particular." He leaned forward a little over his desk, his eyes narrowing. "The name 'Rosalie Hale'- does it ring any bells?"

It did, in fact, invoke a twinge of familiarity, but for a heartbeat I couldn't place it. And then, I drew in a sharp breath, suddenly making the connection. "Three years ago...she...she killed four people..." It was a case I'd followed in the papers; one that had struck me with a particularly sickening bolt of horror. Rosalie Hale had since become a character of my nightmares. I'd once read her FBI file out of morbid curiosity, but that had been years ago. As the details flooded back to me, it became even clearer why Carlisle was bringing this up. "...She found out her fiance was already married with two kids. Stabbed the mother and children to death...then waited in their house for the husband." I shuddered slightly. "Their neighbor walked in to see her c...completely deranged. Laughing. Drinking half his blood, and covered in the rest of it_." Or so the story goes. Like some kind of sick vampire legend._

There was a flicker of something in Carlisle's pale eyes. A half a second's reaction, and then gone before I could even be sure I'd seen it. Anyone else would have been at the very least uncomfortable with such a gruesome subject, but the man before me hardly blinked as I spoke.

"And because Jerardi and Hale's crimes are so similar, you think there's some connection between them?" I questioned tensely.

His brow furrowed. "If that were all, we might simply chalk it up to a case of a copy-cat murderer. Although there is no denying that the similarity of their killings would be a dubious coincidence, we have other reason to believe that she knows something. She requests the newspaper everyday, but only bothers to read it when there's some sort of update on Jerardi's whereabouts. She's been saying things...teasing interviewers with cryptic comments, passing orderlies little teasing messages. She watches us chase after him, she...it's like a _game_ to her." For the first time, I sensed that a hint of anger had pierced Carlisle's cool composure. He'd encountered Hale before, no doubt; he did a lot of work with the patients down at Acaraho. But I'd never heard him speak of one like this...it was as if she _plagued_ him.

Or perhaps I was reading too much into his slight convulsions when he spoke of her, or the stiffening of his jaw as he finished. Still, I couldn't push aside the nagging feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me. I cleared my throat. "Mr. Cullen, sir, why are you asking me to do this? I-I wouldn't even know where to begin, and surely there are agents much more experienced and capable than I am-"

"Rosalie Hale has seen right through every attempt we've made to interrogate her." Carlisle interrupted quietly with the faintest suggestion of a hiss edging his voice. "We send a hardened, fully trained agent over there to question her, and we're lucky if she so much as looks at them. She says just enough to get them hooked, to make them think they're getting somewhere..and then she shuts down completely. But a girl like you...well, Agent Swan, I have a hunch that you'll intrigue her in a way most people can't. She'll want to play a few of her games; get inside your head and break you from the inside out." He was being chillingly honest with me. Not trying to scare me, really, but laying out everything on the table and saying _"This is what this is."_

"And you might interest her just long enough to get something useful out of her."

I nodded grimly so he knew I understood. But when I met his gaze again, he'd softened a fraction.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't have faith that you could."

And there it was. This is my chance. I reminded myself firmly. There wasn't time to think this through and analyze this the way I wanted to. So I took a step forward, and leaped from the metaphorical cliff. "I'll do it, Mr. Cullen...or I'll try, anyway." _Don't second-guess yourself, Swan. Just do it._

Carlisle smiled slowly, showing his perfect white teeth. "You're a very brave girl, Agent Swan. The bureau won't forget this."

I might have resented him for that last statement, if I'd have enough confidence in myself to accuse him of patronizing me. But the truth was, I was driving alone to a place that housed the kind of people who were deranged enough to be locked away from the rest of the world for their crimes. I would be walking among cold-blooded murderers and sociopathic rapists to confront the kind of woman that kids made up ghost stories about. And I didn't feel brave.

As a matter of fact, I was scared shitless.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's chapter two. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! It totally inspires me to write faster. =)**

Acaraho Heights wasn't exactly a dreamhouse—not that I'd been expecting one. While it wasn't your cliche broken-down house of horrors with lightning crashing in the distance, it was enough to effectively dampen my day. Gloomy, bare, and formidable, it was both the most lonely and unappealing place I've ever seen. Bracing myself for the worst, I got out of my car and was immediately greeted by two security officers. I flashed them my ID, and they nodded briefly before motioning to the hospital's entrance. Carlisle had called ahead, and they'd been expecting me.

The patients were kept in the lower levels of the building, and most of the security was concentrated there. Still, I had to endure the standard cautionary checking of my handbag(_"If I may, Agent Swan," _and _"Sorry for the inconvenience. Regular procedure, you know."_) before I could enter the administrative offices in search of the hospital's director.

Who, incidentally, was called _Dr. Cullen. _How's that for irony? That's right, Dr. Edward Cullen, son of previously mentioned Carlisle Cullen, and obviously therefore Alice's brother. I had to admit, the whole thing smelled a bit fishy, what with how interwoven the hospital and the FBI seemed to be. It brought up the old arguments questioning the ethics of mental institutions. Really, if they wanted to hide something in a place like this; if they ever had to cover something up, it would hardly be a problem at all.

But that wasn't what I was here to investigate.

I had to remind myself to breathe as I was led through the unfamiliar hallways by one of the orderlies. "Dr. Cullen would like to go over some of the rules before you meet the patient," she informed me briskly.

"Rules?" I echoed nervously.

I didn't miss the disdainful, purse-lipped glance she tossed over her shoulder. "Safety procedures. For your own benefit."

I decided not to prompt her further, but instead to wait to meet this esteemed doctor. It turned out I didn't have to wait long.

"Bella Swan?"

Lost in thought, I'd nearly crashed into the orderly, who had come to a sudden stop without me noticing. Silently cursing my clumsiness, I turned in search of the voice that had just called my name.

A tall, good-looking man was smiling down at me with one eyebrow quirked. He had dark golden hair that was slightly ruffled and casually messy in contrast to his business-like attire. It took me a moment to realize why he was so familiar: it was his eyes. He had the same topaz eyes as Carlisle and Alice, and once it hit me I immediately matched his face with a name.

"Dr. Cullen?"

His smile widened. "I see no introductions are necessary. Call me Edward, by the way. You've probably exchanged enough formalities with my father."

I tilted my head curiously as I surveyed him. He looked so _young_; he couldn't have been much older than me. How had he landed himself a position as director of Acaraho Heights?

Edward turned to the orderly who had escorted me. "I've got it from here," he assured her easily. She gave him a brief nod, but looked as if she had to refrain from rolling her eyes as she gave me one last glance and then huffed away. That left Edward and I alone, and the situation suddenly became heavy and slightly awkward. I averted my gaze from his.

"So," he said at length. "Carlisle thinks you're Hale's _type_."

It didn't sound like a question, and I frowned at him, confused. "I...don't think 'type' was the word he used," I replied eventually.

Edward looked at me searchingly. "But he thinks the two of you will connect, doesn't he? He wouldn't have sent some academy trainee otherwise—no offense." He turned and began to walk again, motioning for me to follow.

I trailed after hesitantly, and narrowed my eyes at his contemplative demeanor. "What?"

"It's just interesting, that's all..."

He quickened his pace, and I hurried to catch up. "I thought I was going to be briefed on 'safety procedures'?" I prompted, a little wary now that I'd gotten a taste of his ambiguousness.

"We'll do that on the way. There's nothing to worry about, really. Plenty of security measures down there. The main thing to remember is to _be smart_ about her." Edward paused for a moment. "She's tough, Rosalie Hale. Manipulative. There are going to be times when she seems so charming and perceptive that you'll want to pour your heart out to her. But she'll turn nasty on a whim—don't forget that she'd snap your neck without a second thought if she got the chance."

The thought sent a fresh round of jitters coursing through me. Was I really cut out for this? I'd been trained for combat; for tracking and fighting and analysis. Your basic field stuff. I was _not_ ready for a match of one-on-one mind games with a serial killer.

It didn't matter, though, because I'd sooner shoot myself in the foot than admit to Edward that I was too scared to go through with this. I listened numbly as he went over the list of rules: Don't get too close to the glass, don't tell her anything personal, don't give her anything she could potentially use as a weapon...

"Keep all of that in mind, and you'll do fine," Edward finished as we paused before a large metal gate. He pushed the button, and with heavy clang, the gate lifted. "You're on your own from here, but I'll be watching the cameras."

"You're not coming with me?" For some reason, I assumed he would be.

But Edward was shaking his head. "She'll never talk to you if I'm lurking over your shoulder. See...she doesn't like me very much. And to be honest, the feeling's mutual." His gaze darkened a little, and he looked like he was fighting back a scowl for my sake. I hesitated, and then, unwilling betray my unease, nodded and stepped through the gate.

This level of the hospital was the maximum security unit, and there were seperate wings for male and female patients. I met the head orderly in the next room, and was led through several more gates and heavily reinforced doors to Rosalie Hale's cell block.

"If she gives you any trouble, you tell me and I'll deal with her!" the orderly called after me. I didn't reply. Because the moment I stepped into the cell block, I was at a sudden and complete loss for words.

There were maybe six or seven cells on each side of the hall, most of them reinforced by thick bullet-proof glass. In the shadows of the cells, it has hard to make out any defining features of the patients. I could make out a few profiles, gaunt and ragged but distinctly feminine. And they were all so _still. _Most of them didn't even acknowledge my presence other than to track me silently with cold, shining eyes. Only two of them broke the heavy silence that smothered the hall. The first was a hunched, tattered figure that paced anxiously back and forth in her cell, muttering to herself furiously. The other was a middle-aged, sullen looking woman who snarled at me when I glanced at her:

"What are you looking at, _bitch_?"

I quickly averted my gaze and hurried on. I hadn't even been in the place for a full minute, and I was already anticipating the nightmares I was going to have the following night. I was careful not to look into any of the other cells after that.

Rosalie Hale's cell was the last in the room. I held my breath as I approached the glass, half-expecting to be lunged at or verbally assaulted. But the sight waiting for me in the cell made me stop dead in my tracks. Stunned, I blinked, and was able to do nothing more than stare stupidly for several long moments.

The woman who lay quietly on her bunk, flipping through some old fashion magazine, did not have the appearance of someone who had been incarcerated for three years. While most of the other inmates were grizzled and unkempt(to some extent, at least), she was...well, for lack of a better term(being at a loss for words, my vocabulary wasn't at its most creative), the very image of beauty. She was literally flawless; young, radiant, her long blonde curls spilling over her back as she read silently. The only evidence that her imprisonment had effected her at all was the empty look in her dark eyes, or the slight shadowy circles that had formed under them.

_This _was Rosalie Hale? I realized that despite my having followed her case pretty closely several years ago, I'd never actually seen a picture of her before.

Before I could pull myself out of my daze, she sensed my presence, and looked up from the magazine to glare directly into my eyes.

Alarmed, I instinctively took a step back at the forcefulness of her gaze. _Breathe, Bella. Breathe._ I desperately tried not to panic, but my heart was thumping so loudly in my chest that I was sure she'd be able to hear it. I stood frozen as she surveyed me quietly, her expression both inquiring and accusatory. Slowly, she rose from her bed, and moved towards the glass with a languid sort of grace.

She stopped a few feet from the barrier, her arms crossed over her chest, and spoke for the first time. "So...what? They're bringing schoolgirls here on field trips now?"

I stared at her blankly, further antagonized my her mocking smirk. I couldn't show her that I was afraid. "I...I'm Isabella Swan. From the FBI Training Academy," I managed to choke out, still rooted to the spot.

"Oh," Her eyes widened in an imitation of reverence, "_The FBI Training Academy_. How cute." She gave an unimpressed snort, and just like that, turned and began to walk away.

I frowned uneasily. "...I was hoping we could talk?"

"We _are_ talking." She sat down on the edge of her bed, but didn't take her eyes off of me. "Let me guess: Carlisle Cullen sent you here to pick my brain?"

"Something like that," I muttered evasively. I wasn't sure whether or not I should bring up James Jerardi right away; I remembered what Carlisle had said about me being able to intrigue her, and somehow it didn't feel like showing my full hand right away would accomplish this.

She sulkily traced her fingers over the mattress. "He'd love to know what makes me tick. Dear little Edward used to be able to get into my head...but he can't anymore," she breathed, her gaze flickering to meet mine again.

I wondered what she meant by this, but her words seemed to reaffirm the fact that her relationships with Edward and Carlisle were unfriendly at best."Ms. Hale..."

"It's Rosalie," she corrected me sharply. "_Ms. Hale _is kind of pretentious."

I really didn't want to argue with her, so I started again. "Okay...Rosalie—"

"Can I ask you something?" Clearly disinterested in what I had to say, or at least more interested in whatever was on her mind, Rosalie broke in before I could finish. I fell silent and looked at her expectantly. Actually, I was kind of grateful to delay my interrogation. I was still trying to figure out what, exactly, I was going to say to her to convince her to give me any kind of useful information.

"Why did Carlisle send _you_ here? Not to be rude," she said in a crisp tone that asserted that she actually could care less about how rude she sounded, "but...aren't you a little...inexperienced?"

And there it was. I couldn't contradict her on that, but there was no way in hell I could tell her what Carlisle had explained to me. I wondered, briefly, if she'd already seen right through me. Even if she had, there was no going back now. "I don't completely understand why he sent me here either. But he's giving me the chance to prove myself. And I'm taking it." I replied simply, deciding that it was safest to tell her half of the truth.

Rosalie looked me over once, and then gave a brief nod. "That's _great_," she simpered in the same mocking tone she'd used before. "So, _Isabella_. What are we going to _talk_ about?"

Her falsely enthusiastic tone did nothing to ease my nerves. It looked like she was expecting me to 'fess up sooner rather than later, and I didn't see how I could beat around the bush any longer. I took a deep breath. What I was about to do was either a step in the right direction, or else extremely stupid.

"The thing is...Rosalie. I need your help."

By saying those four words, I was effectively putting my neck on the line. I was portraying myself as vulnerable, as easy prey, and hoping she'd take the bait. It was a leap of faith, and I knew it could end very badly—for me.

Rosalie's smile widened slyly. "I figured you didn't come to keep me company." Her dark eyes flashed knowingly, but her silence invited me to continue.

I took a deep breath. "I need to know anything you can tell me about James Jerardi. _Anything_. Even...even the tiniest piece of information could...could really help us." I tried not to come off as pleading, but it was difficult when she was staring at me incredulously.

"_Us_?" she echoed disdainfully. "So you _are _just the Cullens' puppet."

I glared at her. I wasn't anyone's _puppet_. "No, I—"

"Do you know why they want to catch him so desperately?"

Taken aback at the question, I blinked at her in confusion. "...It's because he's a killer. They want to stop him..."

"No," Rosalie cut in with an eye roll for good measure. "That's why the FBI is so invested. But why are the _Cullens_? You have to think about the why's. For example..._why _do you think James Jerardi kills people? Or," She slid off the bed and approached the glass again, coming much closer this time so that she was suddenly frighteningly close. "_Why _shouldI help you?"

I didn't reply. I _couldn't_ reply, because really, what was I supposed to say? What reason could I give her? _"Oh, you'd be saving the lives of so many of Jerardi's potential victims. You'd be a hero!_" Somehow, I highly doubted that she'd give a shit.

"That's right," Rosalie murmured after a moment, staring at me with her dark, secretive gaze . "You don't want my help, Isabella Swan. Because I don't help people without expecting something in return. And we couldn't have you indebted to a _murderer_, could we?" Her eyes narrowed, her demeanor suddenly cold. "I wouldn't want to corrupt your innocence." And then, with one last mirthless little smile, she turned away from me and slunk further into the depths of her cell.

I knew without being told that she wasn't going to speak to me any longer. I stood there for a long moment, contemplating my options, before resigning myself to the fact that I had none, other than to walk away.

Without another word, I turned and trudged back the way I came, this time oblivious to the patients in the cells around me and focused instead on one thing: the aching recognition of my failure. I had effectively accomplished _nothing_ on my visit here today, and I felt a biting sense of shame.

What was I going to tell Carlisle?


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay. I meant to post this chapter a few days ago, but my summer's just been so hectic =/. But I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and thank you all for your reviews! Keep 'em coming!**

**Oh, and by the way, how did you guys like Eclipse? I'm interested to hear opinions. Also, if you have any suggestions concerning this story, concerning the plotline or otherwise, I'd love to hear them!**

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Carlisle Cullen tapped his red-ink pen impatiently against the surface of his desk. His eyes bored into mine searchingly as we sat across from each other, tension thickening between us.

"You're _sure _there's nothing else?" he pressed, emphasizing his query as if he thought I'd been too slow to understand him the first three times he had asked.

I clenched my jaw tightly to keep my impatience in check. "Yes, Mr. Cullen," I replied wearily. "Like I said: she just toyed with me. Asked me who I was, and then about you, and then...and then she said that we should be investigating Jerardi's motive. That's it." I was careful to avoid mentioning what Rosalie had told me—or more accurately, hinted at concerning the Cullens. I wasn't quite sure what was going on between them, but I knew that I didn't want to end up in the middle of it.

Carlisle leaned back in his seat, his brow furrowed in thought. "And that would suggest that she knows something about his motive, wouldn't it?" he murmured, more to himself than to me.

"I don't know," I told him honestly. "I think she knows _something_, but she doesn't trust me enough to tell me," I averted my gaze from his momentarily, guilt stinging dully in my cheeks. I'd failed him, and he knew it.

He regarded me seriously for a brief moment, and then gave a slow nod. "I think you've accomplished more than you realize today, Agent Swan."

I looked up at him in surprise.

"It's clear that you've established some kind of connection with Hale, even if you don't realize it. Otherwise, she wouldn't have given you a second glance," Carlisle's golden eyes danced knowingly. "And quite honestly, no one was expecting you to succeed on your first try."

I stiffened. That made it sound like they wanted me to try _again_. The thought of going back there, and the potential idea of failing for the second time induced an unwanted ripple of fear. I shivered as I recalled the icy coldness in Rosalie's dark eyes as she dismissed me from the cell block. What if going back and insisting that she speak with me once again provoked her a step further, from chilly apathy into anger? I didn't have to be a genius to know that getting on the blonde's bad side was something I most definately didn't want to do. And yet..

And _yet_, deep beneath my reluctance and uncertainty, I was aware of an illogical flutter of excitement. Because I knew there was a part of me that was just as intrigued by Rosalie as I was frightened by her. There was something that drew me in; perhaps it was the intensity of her stare, or the subtle mysteriousness that always seemed to hang over her. Or perhaps some masochistic part of me _wanted _to delve deeper into her little mind games. It was extremely dangerous, I knew. And very, very stupid.

It was practically _absurd _to be so intrigued, really, considering that I'd only spent about ten minutes in her presence. Maybe I should have listened more carefully when the Cullens warned me of her hypnotic nature.

It was then that I realized that I was frowning deeply as I reflected on my experience with the murderess. Without a doubt, Carlisle had noticed this obvious display of emotion, because he was now studying my face in a way that suggested concern. He took a deep breath.

"Bella—" he began, pausing a moment with polite hesitation. "May I call you Bella?"

I nodded mutely. Carlisle had called me by my first name, my informal name, only once before. That had been in his home home, on Alice's birthday when I had been invited there for her small, rather private party. I guessed that now he was using it as a calming mechanism; a display of sincerity.

"If you really think you can't handle this," he continued seriously, "If you look me in the eye and ask me not to send you back there...then I won't." Our eyes locked, and I held his gaze for a long moment. I knew what my answer was going to be; what it _had _to be. And I think maybe he did too.

Because repeating those words back to him was as good as telling him "I can't do it. I give up." And _that_ kind of failure wasn't something that I was ready for.

Which was how I ended up walking through the gloomy sublevel cells of the Acaraho Heights Institution for the second time. I told myself it would also be the last, but that statement brought about images of drug addicts and alcoholics, swearing one last dose before calling it quits only to be repeatedly ensnared. I gritted my teeth and mentally scolded myself for being so dramatic. By coming here again, I was just doing my job. And I wasn't going to let Rosalie into my head again.

I had to admit, though, laying eyes on her without letting my guard down was difficult. When I approached her cell once again, she sitting cross-legged on the ground, her eyes closed. She looked so peaceful, as if she were meditating, and she hummed a soft tune under her breath while she sat with her characteristic stillness. She looked so deceptively innocent that I stopped a good five feet away from the cell, disturbed by the illusion. Rosalie had a certain quality that made you instinctively want to trust her, and that terrified me all the more.

Though I was sure she'd heard me approach, it was a moment before Rosalie actually opened her eyes and looked at me. The humming ceased. I was gripped by the same immobilizing fear as before when I met her gaze, but I forced my mouth to open and only just avoided coughing as I spoke. "Hello, Rosalie."

About ten different emotions flickered across her face all at once, and then none at all. It was impossible to be sure of any of them, but I thought I'd made out surprise, irritation, and then curiosity mingled with amusement. "Wow. You're back," was all she said, making no move to get up. She gazed up at me sullenly, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. "I have to admit, I'm a little surprised. Thought I scared you off."

"You'll have to try harder than that to scare me," I lied stupidly, knowing very well that the challenge sounded empty and artificial in the quiet prison air.

To my surprise, Rosalie grinned broadly. "Really? That's very interesting, Isabella. I'll keep it in mind." Her gaze darted to the floor on the other side of the glass where I stood, and then back up at me. She raised an eyebrow, and I inwardly sighed. I knew I looked foolish hovering over her, and at her silent gesture I stepped a little closer and uncomfortably bent to mirror her position on the ground, so that we were eye level.

"You seemed...reluctant to answer my questions yesterday. So I thought we could talk about something else," I suggested carefully. This was a new tactic of mine. I wanted to gain Rosalie's trust, however impossible the task seemed. If Carlisle insisted we had a connection, then maybe there was a way I could use it to my advantage.

She rolled her eyes. "How very considerate of you."

There was still that biting quality to her words that told me she was mocking me, but her cold contempt from yesterday seemed to be gone. I decided I was safe...for now, at least. "So..." I shifted uneasily, searching for a topic of conversation. "How long have you...known the Cullens?" I figured if I brought this up, I could edge closer to what she'd been saying about them yesterday. Not very subtle, I know, but I had to begin somewhere.

Rosalie narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. Her expression was somehow knowing, and for a moment I was almost certain that she was going to call out my clumsy attempt. But then— "Why do you ask?" She sounded genuinely interested instead of accusatory.

I faltered, my casual air wavering. "You seem to know a lot about them," I pointed out quietly, though the statement came out sounding more like another question.

There was something bitter in her dark eyes, as if my words had stirred an unpleasant memory. For a fraction of a second, she looked at me almost sharply, but then let the tension slide from her shoulders. "Yes, well...I suppose you could say the Cullens and I have been together for quite some time," she said at last.

It seemed to me that Rosalie was hinting at something, but I was too confused by her choice of wording to decode any messages. I frowned at her, puzzled. "Why do they seem to hate you so much?"

Rosalie gave a brief sigh. "It's not really about hate. It's about...fear. The Cullens, particularly Edward, are afraid of what they can't control."

"And they can't control you?" I wondered, intrigued.

She shrugged mischievously. "They stopped trying to awhile ago." Then her face darkened, and her mouth quirked slyly. "I'm sure they love you, though. Seeing as you seem to be Carlisle's little lap dog."

I knew she was trying to get a rise out of me, that she _enjoyed _it, but the fact did nothing to ease my indignation. "I'm _not_." I spat, brave enough to glare at her for the first time.

"No? Didn't he order you to come back here?"

"I _wanted _to come back!" I retorted, and without thinking.

Rosalie smirked suggestively.

I felt a blush beginning to creep over my cheeks, and I feverishly fought to fight it off. "I didn't—I meant—I wanted to come back to get answers!"

"To your questions about James Jerardi?" Rosalie clarified. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying my skittishness.

"Yes!"

To my surprise and ultimate discomfort, Rosalie let out a dark little laugh. Slowly, she leaned closer to the glass, her cunning smile still in place. "Isabella," she purred in a low, almost sultry voice. I sat frozen, utterly transfixed as she opened her mouth to continue. "You are _really_ too easy to play with."

And with that, she immediately rose to her feet, leaving me to gape mutely at the spot she had just occupied. I had to force my thoughts away from my numbing mortification just to focus on what she was saying now:

"I think that maybe, Isabella, we can work something out," Rosalie mused as she prowled towards the back of her cell. "You really are interesting. And I figure...if I throw you and your beloved Cullens a bone, you get to stick around, and then we'd get to _play_ a little longer. Would you like that?"

I still hadn't found my voice, and I could only stare at her helplessly as she considered me. What happened? I had this under control. I had been doing fine. And now, all of the sudden...

"Listen to me carefully." The murderess cut into my thoughts once again. "I want you go to the Quileute reservation. La Push. Are you following me?"

"Yes," I managed with a stiff nod, my head still reeling as I wondered where she was going with this.

"I think you'll find that the natives have had some trouble with our friend James before. Talk to one of them, her name is Leah Clearwater—"

"Wait, how do you know—" I began, but a sharp, frustrated hiss stopped me.

"No, _listen_ to me. Ask for Leah Clearwater. I wouldn't advice going alone, either. You may get...lost." Rosalie hesitated briefly, as if "lost" wasn't what she'd meant to say. "Do as I tell you, and I can promise you'll find something useful."

But this...this didn't make any sense. Was I just supposed to take her word for it, when this information had literally come out of nowhere? A day ago, she hadn't been willing to help me at all! "But Rosalie..." I tried again, before I realized that I didn't even begin to know how to put all of my questions into words.

Rosalie whipped around, and silently stepped towards me again. "Bella," She murmured, and the use of my nickname both startled and silenced me. Her gaze was level and calm as she spoke in a soft, pressing tone. Her moods changed so rapidly that it was impossible to be sure when she was being sincere, but right now there was nothing I could do except listen. "What I'm about to ask you to do is absurd, but if you want to stop these murders," I held my breath, waiting for her to continue, "then I'm going to need for you to trust me."

I hitched a breath, and met her steady gaze once again. I was most likely making a grave mistake. But with James Jerardi at large, and the FBI with nothing to do but watch and wait for him to strike again, what other option did I have?


End file.
